Lots of Little Bigwigs (and so on)

We've started reading Watership Down again. (My fourth time reading it out loud.) 

This reading was prompted mostly by Summer and Mette's arrival at the age of being able to wait patiently through El-ahrairah's tales and appreciate lines such as: "Lots of little Bigwigs, Hazel! Think of that, and tremble!"; but it was the older kids who suggested it was time and who gather around most excitedly--insisting we can't read without them (despite having heard it all before). 

I usually only cry at the very end, but this time I started crying right in the middle!

They approached the wood just at first light and a rabbit ran to meet them through the wet grass. It was Fiver. Blackberry stopped and waited beside him while the other two went on in silence.

"Fiver," he said, "there's bad news. Hazel--"

"I know," replied Fiver. "I know now."

"How do you know?" asked Blackberry, startled.

"As you came through the grass just now," said Fiver, very low, "there was a fourth rabbit behind you, limping and covered with blood. I ran to see who it was, and then there were only three of you, side by side."

He paused and looked across the down, as though still seeking the bleeding rabbit who had vanished in the half-light." 

"I don't know why I'm crying," I kept apologizing to the kids. "I know what happens. There's no reason for me to even cry right now!"

But never mind me and my crying. Let's move on to other good writing ... like Anders' next-level magnet poetry. :)

But ... nobody is paying anyone for sticking magnets up in poetic fashion around here (appreciated as those arts might be). On a more practical scale we have Jesse. He has been taking care of Uncle Jodie and his son Nate's dogs all week. Three times a day he drives Jodie's 4-wheeler down past the bishop's dairy (and his rather intimidating dogs) to Jodie's spot along the river where he let's the dogs out and keeps them running along beside him on his four wheels to get their energy out. 

Here Jesse is: brace free and then ... not brace free.

And here is something fun: my niece Ryleigh (who lived with us for years when I was in middle and high school) stopped by to see the farm while she was in town this week, and to let me finally meet her little Max and Jo! (Maxine and Josie.) Any baby is a miracle, I know, but there really is just something so unbelievable about two of the same little baby! It feels utterly impossible, and I just can't get over it! 

It was so great--for all the kids clamoring to hold a baby--that there were two to pass around!

AND!!! ... I think this might be our last summer of carting kids to swimming lessons! (Maybe? It's possible I'll feel that Hans and Star could use one more go next summer.) But for decades now (decades!!!) we haven't been able to go to a pool without worrying over multiple non-swimmers. Hans still wasn't swimming at the start of this summer, and Starling had never had lessons at all, so I thought it might be a few years yet, but I happened upon two girls who do private lessons and after their very no-nonsense work, both Hans and Starling had joined the world of swimmers! I still wouldn't trust Starling to not be vigilantly watched for some time yet, but it is still such a relief to me to know we are pretty much there!

(Star's lessons and the cold water often combined to wear her out. I was thoroughly soaked through myself by the time she finished her nap.)

Abe left our last Bear Lake trip early for a jiu-jitsu tournament. His main opponent kindly played the part of the villain--giving Abe a default win in an early match through illegally slamming him on his back and then meeting up with him again (giving Abe a chance to beat him on his own merit) in the final match for the gold. Villain (who is probably an excellent person but better to paint this way for the benefit of our story) played so hard that, with a minute to go, Abe knew he would lose if the time ran out and it came down to points alone. His only chance for proving himself lay in forcing a tap out. And force a tap out he did! The gold was his!

Speaking of developing powerful skills: here, again, we have "Superhero School".

But my kids wear many hats, and, when not practicing her more intense superheroing, Starling is back to gentling our cats. She loves them. "Mom, want to come see Biscuit?" she'll often ask. "He's so cute." Or, "Mom! Come see Shasta! He's sleeping under the trampoline in the tall grass!"

And a little last miscellany.

Mike showing everyone ... something.  

Mette got her hair cut. (Maybe I already mentioned that? There are so many instances of ... braces, hair cuts, glasses, contacts, etc. that it's hard to keep track!)

Penny after a game of "Fugitive" with her Young Women's group. (The girls all had to try and get, on foot, from one location to another without the leaders, in cars, spotting them. What with all the farms and fields and ditches and canals around here, it was not too surprising to see her arrive home like this. Her shoes are still sitting on the front porch while I decide what's to be done with them!)

Bear Lake, Cancer and Rabies

Last week we encountered a dead weasel during a little walk at the cabin. Afterwards, dear little seven-year-old Hansie sighed, "I used to think life was just perfect. Until I learned about rabies and cancer. ... Like, when I was a baby, I just thought, 'Life is going to be great!', but then ..."

Cancer and rabies.

I know. 

Poor boy--leaving his own little Eden.

I can relate. Just before this particular Bear Lake trip in fact, I happened to be looking through some old blog posts--mostly of Bear Lake trips from years ago. Hans was still a baby then (blithely unaware of rabies). Everyone was little really. Partly, looking back, I wondered how on earth I did it--packing and cleaning and adventuring with so many small and needy people. But also, it seemed like everything was so utterly simple then! Reading through those posts I could see that in many ways we were still in our innocent Eden phase. What did any of us know about ... cancer and rabies then?

In any case, here we are--a little more thickly entrenched in the realities of a mortal journey (and probably the better for it).

(And I was about to complain about the fact that my camera battery died only half-way through this trip [and then Daisy's died shortly after] only ... there are still roughly six billion photos between our cameras so ... perhaps it's just as well!)